Each bend and fold and edge of these clouds. How they drift. Free, no mind, no thoughts, no pain, no joy. Nothing but existence itself. It is beautiful to watch them float and drift knowing their existence is so temporal. They are carried by wind and born of water and earth, to which they will return after such a short life.
Giant. Small. Long. Short. They transform and change and shift into unpredictable unique shapes and formations. I stare at them and I feel I can cry but I do not produce tears. Instead, I stare longingly into them. They are unburdened by stress, the past, the future. Unburdened by anything. The clouds only know now, the present.
How they give such character to the sky. Such a spectrum of white and gray. How it looks though the shadows and patches likes the white sea foam crash of an ocean frozen slow in time, only to vanish in minutes, hours. How you can stare deep and see a factory's smoke, cotton, snow, wet cotton, slush, smoke, oceans in the negative space that is the blue sky above them. And the light that increases when they finally drift away and how that light feels like God's presence and grace gently shining.
How you wish you could be here forever. How the world, work, the people, the pain, the hurt, vanishes, so long as the clouds hover in your sight.
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